


Burning Like a Bridge For Your Body

by whereismygarden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Rumbelle explicit one-shots and ficlets!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back and Forth

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Brand New's "Tautou."

> anonymous prompted: Prompt: Angry Sex; For the first time in her life Belle feels jealousy over a man.

_Note_ : I went in an experimental direction with this one, I hope you like it.

Rated M.

~

“And for your dessert course? Anything I can get you?”

“I think the choc—“

“Just the check, please.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing…else?”

“Excuse me, that’s my  _husband_  you’re flirting with.  _Check_ , please.”

“Of course. Ma’am.”

“That was a little harsh, sweetheart.”

“She was eyeing you and offering  _herself_  for dessert.”

“I don’t think—“

“Here’s your check.”

“ _Thank_  you.”

…

“You know I’ll never want anyone besides you, Belle.”

“I know.”

“ _Well_ , you still seem a little tense.”

“Are you getting irritated at  _me_  now?”

“I don’t see why you’re upset when I’ve done nothing—in  _that_  respect—to lose your trust.”

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over. Just there.”

“Belle, what’s the matter? What are you—“

“You can take off your seatbelt too and get in the backseat.”

“Oof—“

“Lie back.”

“Belle—“

“ _Listen to me._  I love you. I know you love me. But you’ve had other women, before me.”

“Belle, it’s  _you_  I love.”

“I know it is—help me with your cuffs—and I don’t fault you, but other women have had you. You’re  _mine_ , Rumpelstiltskin, and I don’t like that girl trying to take what’s mine.”

“Here, you’ve got the zipper on some of that lace ruffle that goes around the back.”

“There it is, thank God.”

“Just a little ways down is all we need—there.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Feel better, love?”

“I feel like you’re  _mine_ , now…”

“Ahhh.”

“Keep—quiet, we’re—near the—shops, it—wouldn’t be—very polite.”

“Oh, God, Belle, not when you’re doing that—unh, I can’t be quiet…”

“That’s right, love, come on…”

“Faster, Belle, please—yes!”

“You’re  _mine_ , Rumpelstiltskin. I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m  _yours_ —uf!”

“Hmm. You’re a sight like this.”

“You should see yourself, love.”

“Well, get up, we still have to drive home.”

“Really?”

“Mmm, yes. Though I think we should go straight to bed.”

“Yes. Yes. Where are my keys?”


	2. Hearts On Their Sleeves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompted: 
> 
> Voyeurism. In the Name of the Brother AU: Belle never lost her memories at the town line. Instead she and Gold are spending the night together. Cora creeps in and watches them make love.  
> Note: I don’t feel like I did this one justice. Cora’s kind of cold, so her POV isn’t that responsive, and I’ve never written any voyeurism before. (If you want hot voyeurism, accio-firewhiskey did a brain-shatteringly awesome golden lace one a week or so ago).

Cora has to deal with Rumpelstiltskin. Her trump card, the magical globe he’ll need to find his son, will be enough to broker a truce until that fool Killian is back on his feet and ready to start up his vendetta again.

 

               His shop is easy to find:  _Gold’s._  Regina never did have much subtlety. She steps inside silently, stopping the ringing of the bell with a thought, and making herself invisible as well. She needs to assess the situation, determine his state of mind, before she goes in with her deal.

                The situation is not what she expects. There’s a muffled groaning sound from behind the curtain that separates his office from the shop proper. She walks forward silently, hoping that maybe someone is in there killing him for her, removing his threat.

                Not quite. He’s sitting on a camp bed, head flung back against the wall and eyes closed, legs spread apart for the woman crouching at his feet. She’s young and dark-haired, Cora notes (he has a type like any man), with one hand grasping his cock and the other, one of his legs.

                “Belle,” he groans, hands fluttering, and draws a lock of her hair through his fingers tenderly. The woman has her mouth on him, moving up and down slowly, making him shift on the cot and moan aloud. “You’re killing me,” he gasps. His human face is more expressive than that of the cursed imp. Or maybe he’s just more open with this woman.

                More open. Softer. Weaker. More of his heart exposed than with her. Vulnerable.

                “What do you want?” the woman asks teasingly, taking her mouth off of him and trailing the tip of her tongue along his head. “More of this?” She leans back down and takes him deep, humming against his cock, and Rumpelstiltskin makes a guttural, growling sound. “Or this?” She licks along his length, blowing softly over where her tongue has been, smiling.

                “You,” he gasps. “Put me in you.” The heat in his voice has even her frigid veins warming. He never spoke that way with her, with such urgent need. The woman—Belle—stands up and reaches a hand under her skirt, yanking down what must be this world’s concession to undergarments, tossing the scrap of cloth to the floor and straddling Rumpelstiltskin.

                “Yes, Belle,” he breathes, and they move so that he’s lying down on the length of the cot and she’s over him, smiling and touching herself beneath the brown skirt she’s wearing. He smiles lazily up at her and touches her other hand, her breast, her cheek. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Every part of you?” Belle leans down and kisses him, and he lifts his head up to respond, both of them moaning a little at the teasing of teeth and tongue.

                “What do you want?” she asks again, voice raspy, nipping his jaw. “Tell me.”

                “Please me,” he says. “Ride me, Belle.” His tone is somewhere between an order and a plea, and Belle nods, breathless, and rises up and down, gripping his shoulders, her neatly brushed hair tangling and sticking to her face as she turns sweaty and flushed, riding him roughly. Rumpelstiltskin arches beneath her, all but growling her name, breath short and fast.

                “Rumple,” she breathes, voice low and shaky, and he puts his hand under her skirt to tease at her, and soon she’s crying out, breathless little gasps of pleasure, and they move raggedly now. Her hands tremble on his chest, and his hips jerk up to meet her downward thrusts. She comes first: Cora has a good view of her face, and it goes slack-jawed and pained in her moment of ecstasy, and Rumpelstiltskin is left to thrust into her alone, as her legs tremble and refuse to take her weight. Quickly, though, she collects herself enough to pull up and grind down a few more times, enough to make him come with a hoarse cry.

                Then she collapses onto his chest, and his hands rub her back and pluck at her hair, his voice a low murmur.

                “I love you, sweetheart.” Belle kisses him on the forehead, smiling contentedly, for all that his now-limp cock must still be half inside her.

                “I love you too.”

                Cora leaves. She’s seen enough to know that here is more of what she doesn’t understand, what she can’t understand. She doesn’t remember it being like that, so generous and calm. Well, now she knows about another of his weaknesses, and how deep it goes. She’ll come around with the globe tomorrow.

 


	3. Meadows and Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompted: 
> 
> How about sex in the forest?  
> Rumbelle, NC-17. They’re out looking for ingredients for his spells.

                His maid was enjoying their day away from the castle, spending as much time as she could in the spring sun. The basket he’d given her with strict instruction to fill with lemon balm for his spells wasn’t even half full, but Belle was smiling in the sunlight and looking pretty in a yellow dress and brown boots, so he supposed he could forgive her. He was collecting a few more dangerous specimens that required him to wander into the darker part of the forest, instead of sticking to the meadow where Belle looked like a milkmaid among the white and yellow flowers.

 

                He stalked off into the mushrooms and fallen pine needles, putting thoughts of her away. For all that she was only his maid—a bringing-down intended to humble her family—she was still almost a princess. The  _Lady_  Belle, daughter of Sir Maurice. Not the kind of girl who’d let her master tumble her in a daisy field. And since when had he been interested in satisfying his carnal appetites: not in decades, since it had gone so horribly wrong the last time.

                He had a few of the deadly mushrooms and berries in the pouch at his waist and was rinsing his hands in a stream when he heard the crunching of a dead stick and turned to find Lady Belle standing behind him, face open and curious.

                “What are you doing?” she asked, setting her basket on the protruding roots and walking up quickly behind him. He held up his dripping hands and flicked the water at her.

                “Washing my hands, dearie,” he said, trying to ignore how damned close she was to him. She tilted her head.

                “Sneaking away to do something nefarious,” she said, half-serious, but then she smiled at him. He pressed his lips together and tried not to notice the way her dress hugged her figure. Apparently, he failed, because she blushed red, even to her neck, and stepped back. He smiled with one side of his mouth, letting his amusement show in his eyes.

                “Something the matter, dearie?” he asked, and she looked boldly back at him. She bit her lip and took his right hand in both of hers, lacing her fingers through his the way he fiddled with string.

                “You keep looking at me,” she said, and he wanted to look away from her eyes, but she held him captive.

                “You’re nice to look at,” he croaked, unsure what she implied. She pulled his hand up to her shoulder and his fingers curled compulsively around the cotton cloth of her dress, feeling the heat of her skin beneath. “What are you doing?” She reached her hands up and put them around his neck, drawing him in close and not letting go. “Belle?” Her face was pressed into his chest and her loose hair tickled his neck.

                “So are you,” she said, and lifted her head enough to kiss the underside of his jaw. He sucked in a gasp, suddenly short of breath and his arms full of Belle. And she had just said he was pleasant to look at. He couldn’t believe her, but he could feel her breath at his neck, fanning a flame she had lit to move through his body. He leaned down and kissed back: the corner of her mouth, her jawline, her throat, her shoulder, because she wouldn’t want to feel his mouth on hers.

                She wasn’t content to stand there, though, and moved her hands down his back, tugging at his coat. He paused and looked at her again: it was one thing to kiss, but quite another for her to start taking his clothes off. She stared back determinedly and took advantage of his distraction to pull it completely away.

                “I can’t feel you with that on,” she complained, put a hand in his hair, and yanked his face to hers. This time he couldn’t avoid the kiss, and met her hungry mouth with his own. She was inexperienced but clever, tangling her tongue with his and entrancing him with her taste.

                He should be worried about frightening her, about why she wanted this, but she was making little gasping noises when he nibbled at her throat, and he was getting hard with her pressed against him. Most likely he should step away from her—Belle ground her hips against his and made a satisfied little sound, and he forgot about stepping away.

                “You’re sure?” he pressed, even as he kissed along her neckline and pulled at her skirt.

                “If you are,” she replied, and put a hand between them to pluck at the laces of his leather trousers. He groaned at the feeling of her hands moving near his cock, and nodded into her neck. He had Belle’s skirts about her waist, and moved his hand between her legs, discovering not cloth but wet flesh, and his whole body jerked. She whimpered as he drew his fingers through her curls and grazed the pearl of flesh just underneath.

                “Why me?” he asked, and she faltered, hands stilling on his breeches. She smiled and half-shrugged.

                “Why not? You’re interesting. You listen and talk to me.” She flushed a deeper red. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I want you.” He blinked down at her, confused and charmed at once. Interesting could be said for many people, and he was the  _only_ one to listen and talk to Belle, since he was the only one who saw her. But if she wanted him, he wouldn’t tell her that was impossible. He nodded as though he understood and moved his fingers over her folds again, and she squirmed, undid the final lace of his breeches, and wrapped her hot fingers around his length. He groaned at the touch, and Belle cautiously moved her hand up and down him.

                “Am I doing this right?” she asked. He stifled a laugh and resisted the urge to thrust into her hand.

                “Perfect, Belle,” he grunted, and rubbed at the hooded pearl of flesh that held her pleasure, running his finger over the same spot again and again. Soon enough, her hands went limp and then clutched at his shoulders as she cried out. Her long, low moans as he slid his finger over her made him weak at the knees, and she went on and on, her legs finally collapsing as she finished.

                “Rumpelstiltskin,” she said breathlessly, as he caught her and pulled her upright. “You can come and take me. Please. I—I want to know what it feels like to hold you inside me.” There was something besides lust and satiation in her eyes, but he didn’t argue, simply backed her against a tree and lifted her a little so he could slide inside. The Dark One’s strength made it easy, made her next to nothing in his hands, and he groaned as his cock slipped inside her. She was hot and wet and _perfect_ , so tight around him that he could barely move inside her.

                “Belle,” he gasped, and met her eyes, a little pained but trusting, and wondered if he looked how he felt, a man about to fall apart at the straw stitches. “Belle, you feel so good.” He turned and braced his back against the trunk of the tree, hitching her legs around his waist and taking her hips in his hands. She clung to his shoulders as he moved her up and down his cock, as gently as possible, and she smiled at him—at least when he could open his eyes long enough to see her.

                “You can go harder, if you need to,” she said, and giggled self-consciously. “Everything I’ve read said it would be faster.” He nearly came at the offer, but paused to frown at her.

                “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said cautiously. Her face moved in concentration and he felt her squeeze around him, gripping his cock tighter.

                “ _Belle_ ,” he groaned, to keep from letting loose obscenities, sank to the ground, and flipped her onto her back. He wasn’t sure whether to sob or shout, so he bit his lip and thrust as hard and fast as he dared, too far gone to try and give her pleasure again. He wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but it felt like a perfect eternity and a fleeting second, and he came with a low moan and a bite to Belle’s neck. His hands were filled with the crushed remains of pine needles and dead leaves, and he opened uncertain eyes to Belle’s looking brightly at him.

                “I—“ he didn’t know how to begin. Apologize for rutting against her on the dirty forest floor? Thank her for letting him? Offer to make her come again? Belle ran her fingers through his hair and smiled once more.

                “Home?” Her voice was hopeful. “This could be done in a bed as well.” She was still blushing, a lovely crimson, and he climbed off her as decorously as possibly, adjusting their clothes with a bit of magic and offering her a hand.

                “Thank you,” he said gruffly, picking up her basket of lemon balm and letting her take his arm to magic them home. She squeezed his arm and nodded, biting her lip, but her eyes were happy enough, and he was still confused, and that would have to do for now.

 


	4. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> westcoastmalone prompted: 
> 
> If you’re still accepting prompts, can I go old school and ask for a ‘sex pollen’ scenario?  
> Note: this is a scifi trope so I went with the spaceship setting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AS WITH ALL "ALIENS MADE THEM DO IT/BEAST MODE FICS, THIS IS MILDLY DUBIOUS CONSENT.

                This planet was definitely Belle’s favorite: the delicate meadow flowers that stretched out all around the shuttle reminded her of the most carefully tended blooms she’d seen on Earth, yet here they grew without encouragement. Without encouragement they knew of, she corrected herself.

 

                “Ruby, isn’t this just beautiful?” she called out. The tall zoologist nodded distantly, transfixed by a passing insect, floating by on gossamer wings and showing neither fear of nor aggression towards their party.

                “Don’t let your guard down just because it’s pretty,” Jefferson chided her. “Gloves on, if you please.” Sighing, Belle complied, sliding on the dirty leather gloves and pulling out a specimen bag. Gold and Regina Mills were still squabbling about something, trading barbs even as they stared at the beauty all around them; the soldiers, ever alert, held their guns up, eyes flicking over the fields as if something horrible would come charging out at the group. Belle couldn’t believe that something would, even if it was just a whim of hers. Everything here could be poisonous, full of toxins and brightly colored as a warning, but she felt that this was a welcoming place.

                So when she found a deep red flower, with tiny scallops along its wide petals and perfect golden stamens in the center, she couldn’t resist leaning over and sniffing for a perfume, cradling the bloom in her hand. It smelled  _wonderful_ : like clean water, like honey, like sweet wine.

                “Gold, Nolan,” she called quietly, trying not to aggravate Jefferson’s paranoia. “Come here.” The soldier got there a few steps before her boss, who was slightly preoccupied with the oddly shaped leaves of a yellow-flowered vine he’d uprooted. “Smell this flower,” she encouraged, feeling oddly warm. “I have literally never smelled anything this good in my life.”

                “Your entire life, French?” Gold said, and she found her face, and her whole body, heating in response to his words. Her brain seemed to be lagging, instead of providing her with a quick retort. Gold had always been handsome, but she felt she should have noticed how damn  _sexy_  he was before now.

                Nolan inhaled deeply, and she directed the flower towards Gold, who sniffed, rolling his eyes as if to humor her, but freezing at the scent.

                “See?” she said dreamily, leaning over it again, relishing the delicate scent. Gold breathed in again, forehead nearly brushing hers as he leaned in.

                “I am burning up,” Nolan said, straightening and fanning his reddening face, and Belle saw Meg Blanchard, his fellow soldier and not-so-secret lover, approaching with Jefferson. “Meg!” he said, and took a few stumbling steps towards her. Belle watched confusedly, wondering why they were being so public, and pressed her face into Gold’s chest. He dropped what he was holding and put his arms around her, just as Meg leaned away from Nolan.

                “David, what are you doing? You look… not normal,” she exclaimed, and he stepped back with a hurt look on his face. Jefferson stormed up to Belle and Gold, yanking the red flower out of her hands and throwing it to the ground.

                “Dammit, you don’t think about anything, do you?” he raged. “Nolan, come with me, get off of Blanchard, she’s not interested.” Regina and Frederick approached from another part of the field, Ruby close behind, but Belle was losing interest in the actions of the others, when Gold’s hands were rubbing her back and she was tracing his ribs under his shirt.

                “What exactly is happening over here?” Regina said, her voice abrasive to Belle’s ears, and she tried to burrow further into Gold’s chest, smelling him instead of her lost flower.

                “These three  _idiots_  are all stoned on some kind of aphrodisiac, damn everything on this planet!” Ruby snickered at Jefferson’s rage.

                “Gold and Belle seem to be enjoying themselves,” she observed. Belle flinched away from the head scientist’s irritated grasp, twining her fingers into Gold’s hair and turning her face up to his for a kiss. His lips moved over hers, taking her top lip and teasing it with his tongue until she opened her mouth and let him in. The heat that had been building under her skin seeming to be settling in her thighs and belly, and she ground against him, moaning a little. “Do you think—do you think that being out in the open is going to deter them at all?”

                “You know I can still think rationally, and hear, and so can Belle?” Gold asked, pulling his mouth away from her for a few moments.

                “Yeah,” she agreed. “Just… a little… distracted.” The heat was building, making her  _crave_  Gold, need some part of him inside her until the fire inside died down. Everyone surrounding them was melting into a haze, and far more real and more important was Gold’s mouth on hers.

                “I  _need_  you,” she gasped, yanking on his hair and pressing her face into his neck, smelling the blend of coffee substitute, fried wiring, and ink that made up  _him_. “Gold, I need you.” Her voice was becoming a whine, and she reached her hand down towards his jeans, grabbing for his cock. She was wet, without even a touch, and he was hard already. Dimly, she was aware that the rest of the party was turning their backs and making retching noises, and Jefferson was still screaming at them, but it was a distant buzz compared to Gold’s harsh breathing.

                “Belle,” he moaned, and undid the front of her jeans, reaching his hand down her knickers and pushing his fingers through her folds. She staggered at the feeling, twitching towards him, desperate for friction, and he obliged as she fumbled at his belt and jeans, trying to pull his cock out. “Belle, touch me, put me in you, anything, please…” This was going to be the quickest, roughest,  _best_  fuck she’d ever had, and she couldn’t think why she hadn’t gone to bed with Gold before. He was a raging dick, of course, but he was easing two fingers inside her pussy while she moaned, and finally,  _finally_ , she freed his cock from his boxers and stroked it, liking the weight and thickness of it. Yes, after this, she was going to start fucking him on a regular basis.

                He groaned and knocked them both to the grass, no doubt crushing several never-before-seen specimens, and yanked her jeans down to her ankles, then pulled her legs apart. His cock rubbed at her entrance only moments later, and she would have been content to rut and grind against him until they both came, if not for the thought in her mind that she needed him in her, and he as well. So when he pushed inside her, his cock sliding in easily among her wetness, she welcomed him, arching her back against the ground and tugging him closer with her hands.

                “Rough, Gold, please,” she begged. “I need you so much, I need to feel you  _fuck_  me, I want it as fast and hard as you can.” She had no idea where these words were coming from, but they were absolutely true as they lay panting in the grass, and Gold obliged her. His grunts came just after the slap of flesh on flesh, and he hit something deep inside her that made her scream. Her climax was almost a surprise, making her back arch as something inside her unwound, and then she was staring up as Gold finished, awareness rushing back.

                She had just had rough sex in the middle of a field with her asshole boss while several of the people they lived in close quarters with were standing nearby. He realized as well, after he came inside her and the plant seemed to release him from whatever spell they had been under.

                “Oh, shit,” he said softly, withdrawing and doing up his trousers, face terrified and embarrassed. He turned his back somewhat, covering his face, and Belle scrambled to do the same, standing up and trying to brush the grass and leaves off her damp back.

                “I think—if you like—this doesn’t count. Since the flower,” she stammered, and he nodded curtly, favoring his bad leg, and she wondered how badly their activities hurt him. She could remember it all, but filtered by the irrational haze of unthinking bliss, and though she was still reeling and weak-legged from the climax he brought her to, she couldn’t quite think it had been real.

                The cautious approach of a nearly apoplectic Jefferson and a snickering Ruby, though, assured her that it all was real, and that they couldn’t forget it had happened. They would have to talk it out, figure out why they had immediately grabbed each other under the influence. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or not, but she didn’t have time to think about it now.

                “I’m glad you two fucking enjoyed yourselves, you stupid shits! It serves you right, you stupid fucking morons! You can get your asses back on board for fucking blood tests and detox and quarantine and whatever else doctor Whale says is good! Now!”

                Gold did brush some of the plant matter off her back as they walked awkwardly toward the ship, and she took that as a good sign of some kind.


	5. Just Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mayor-french prompted: 
> 
> prompt: Rumpelstiltskin fantasizes about Belle in the dark castle. Smut, please! :)

                It’s wrong, he needs no one to tell him that, but his whole existence is wrong. He does wrong things all day long. One more, for all that it’s  _especially_  wrong, doesn’t matter. And it’s a victimless crime, his little indulgences. No one gets hurt.

 

                It’s because it’s the summer: Belle ties her skirt up around her knees and goes barefoot, forsakes the layers of petticoats so that when she moves through bright sunlight (which isn’t often, in his castle) he can see the lines of her perfectly. No doubt she’d never do so at her father’s court, but here, she’s… more relaxed. Easier, freer, and safer.

                He watches her struggle with the buckets of water she uses to scrub the laundry, admires the way her hair sticks to her dampened face in little wisps. She has strong legs: strengthened by her time spent here, but likely muscled before, by horseback riding and dancing.

                His first fantasy of her has to do with the laundry, in a tangential way. She’s carrying a bucket of water, or drawing it up from the well, and manages to spill it all over herself. The water soaks her dress, plastering it to her chest and belly and thighs in blue and white folds. Her nipples are visible through the soaked fabric, tight little peaks made hard by the cold water, and he can see that see wears nothing beneath the skirt of her dress. The pale wet fabric reveals her thighs, hints at the outline of her cunt, shows him the dark shadow of her lower curls.

                He moans, jerking into his fist in his bedchamber, thanking fate that Belle chose today to wear the blue dress, because it makes this so much better. She sees him watching her and her hands go to cover herself, a reaction of the modest maiden she is. He walks up to her, letting his eyes linger between her legs, and a deep blush rises in her cheeks.

                “Trouble?” he asks her.                                                                                                                

                “I spilled,” she confesses, though it’s obvious.  _I’d like to spill something else on you_ , he wants to say, and licks his lips.

                “Clumsy,” he says. “As usual. Maybe I ought to start punishing you for that.” The real Belle would tilt her head, roll her eyes, and move past him, but fantasy Belle bites her lower lip and asks,

                “Punish me how?” He reaches up to grip her wrists and pull her hands away from her breast.

                “A cruel touch,” he says, and smirks. “Does that frighten you?” She meets his eyes with her own, because fantasy Belle is similar to real Belle.

                “You don’t frighten me.” Her eyes turn speculative. “What about a kind touch?” He reaches out and grasps her right breast through her sodden dress. She gasps and takes a half-step closer to him.

                “Like this?” he asks, and then, in the manner of dreams and fantasies, she’s on her hands and knees in the grass while he finishes pulling her damp skirt up around her waist. Her arse makes a soft curve, though she has muscles there too, and her thighs are wide, parted for him. He frees his cock and pushes it between her legs, seeking the warm wetness there, and sinks into her with a groan, his hands rubbing her through her wet clothes. He takes her roughly, makes her body shake, relishes the sound of flesh on flesh, bites what he can of her neck and finishes without a thought for her pleasure. It’s her punishment for being clumsy, for having such pretty legs and breasts.

                In his bedchamber, Rumpelstiltskin moans and comes on his hand, some of his seed ending up on his stomach. A touch of magic clears it all up, though, and he can speak to Belle as though he hadn’t just pleasured himself while thinking about her.

                His second fantasy is less narrative in nature. Belle has not spilled anything on her dress, he notices, and it stays woefully non-transparent as she brings him his afternoon tea, settling into her preferred spot on the edge of the table, kicking her legs. Her slightly dusty bare feet brush against his knee when she sweeps them under the table.

                “Sorry!” she says, smiling.

                She always sits there. In that same spot on the side of the table, and he’s been thinking about it for weeks now. He wants to take her, right there, have her wrap her legs around his waist and scream for him while he thrusts into her. His cock hardens at the thought of Belle perched on the table’s edge, legs wide, dress and undergarments tossed aside so that her naked body presses against him as he fucks her. He wants to reach down and touch himself again, soothe the returned ache, but she’s sitting there right now, all innocence, and he wants nothing more than to bury himself inside her. She’d be hot and tight, and he could find that place above her cunt that would make her moan.

                “Belle,” he begins.  _Belle, I want to hold you down and fuck you till you scream and spill myself in you and on you._  “Will you start our dinner?” His cock is straining at his trousers, and he can’t move until she’s left.

                “Already?” she asks. He nods, keeps his voice light.

                “I have business to attend to tonight.”

                He’s pathetic, he knows, sprawling against his bed a second time in one day, wrapping his hand around himself when he craves sweet flesh and soft whimpers.

                His pretty little maid finds him in the throes of his third fantasy, the one where she creeps into his bedchamber and waits for him, says she wants him. It’s simple. It’s the best one. He’s moaning her name when she walks in, a question dying on her lips.

                “What do you—Oh!” He opens his eyes and tilts his head up to look at her. There’s no explanation, no excuse for why his cock is in his hand and he’s chanting her name like a prayer. She’s covering her eyes with a hand and going red.

                “Belle,” he says numbly, in a different tone, and despite being caught, he doesn’t soften at all. She peeks at him from behind her shielded eyes and smiles a little, shaking her head.

                “You could just—ask,” she says, turning red all over, then turns on her heel and marches out, shutting the door. It’s a good thing, too, because after her words, it takes only a slight movement of his hand to finish him, and he’s gasping, what she said still sinking in.

                He’s going to ask her, all right. If he can find a shred of courage somewhere, it might be after dinner. After all, still no one’s been hurt.


	6. Trust and Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> somethingstately asked for Rum being afraid to ask Belle to try something, and THIS WAS FOR A THREE SENTENCE PROMPT ENJOY YOUR 1600 WORDS OF PORN YOU SICK LITTLE BITCH THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR ASKING ME TO MAKE SOMETHING “REALLY FILTHY"
> 
> NC-17, of course.

          "Rumple, just  _say_ it," she said, pausing in her undressing, and he shifted uncomfortably. He shouldn’t ask this of her, for so many reasons, and the  _least_  was that he didn’t deserve it. He shook his head.

          “Sweetheart, don’t worry about it,” he said, and she folded her arms.

          “If you just tell me what you want, I won’t worry.” Her eyes were fierce, strong, and more than a little vexed with him, as they searched his face. “Rumple, believe it or not, I’m not innocent of all the things that go through people’s minds. I’m  _very_  well-read.” Her joke was meant to set him at ease, but had little effect.

          “It’s… no, sweetheart, forget it.” She would be scared, if she knew. He couldn’t bear the idea of her scared of his desire. She crossed her legs on the bed and patted the quilt.

          “All right, sit down and give me a hint, if you can’t say it.” He sat, and she pressed some gentle kisses to his cheek. “I love you.” He took a deep breath and willed his magic to his hand. Purple smoke coalesced around his outstretched palm, there was a metallic clatter, and then he and Belle were looking down at the chains dangling from his hand.

          He couldn’t look her in the eye, closing his fist against the cold metal links and turning his face away. Belle’s hand rested on his upper arm, and the other wrapped around his clenched fist.

          “You see?” he said desperately. “You’ve been locked up for so long, sweetheart, I can’t ask you to—“ he cut off and felt Belle kiss his cheek again.

          “You want me to wear them?” she said, matter-of-factly. He laughed a little, humorlessly. That was a kind way of putting it: he wanted her bound, stretched out for him, on the edge of discomfort,  _begging_  for him to do things she couldn’t guide him to with restrained limbs. Even now, in his shame, the idea was making his blood rush and cock harden.

          “Yes,” he admitted, and she hefted the chains in her hand.

          “I trust you not to hurt me, to free me when I ask.” She paused, putting a finger to her lips. “This is good, I think. You can learn you can be trusted with me.” She shed her remaining clothes quickly and arranged herself on her back in the middle of the bed. “Just make sure there aren’t any sharp edges.” The sight of her, spread out like that, her legs wide, shameless, wetness gathering in her sweet cunt, made his mouth dry. He swallowed, trying to collect himself.

          “You’re sure?” he asked, and she nodded, reaching one hand down to tease at herself, letting out a small cry.

          “I’m wet, I’m ready for you.” He licked his lips and considered for a bare moment. Then, with another snap of his fingers, Belle was bound to the bed, arms and legs pulled apart by soft but strong restraints. He watched her try them, tug against the silk, and failed to move even an inch. For a second, he panicked, and nearly eliminated them again.

          “You’re sure?” he asked, and she smiled trustingly.

          “Come and have me… any way you like.” Her words had him biting back a moan, and he shed what was left of his clothes, all but the silk boxers he was wearing. It was the work of a moment to take most of the light out of the room, all but the few soft lights at their nightstands. He walked to the edge of the bed and sucked the taste of Belle’s cunt off her fingers, groaning at the taste, and then sat down next to her, trailing a lazy hand down her stomach. She watched him unabashedly, eyes darting between his face and his clearly hard cock.

          He laid down next to her, the hand on her stomach reaching up to her breast and ghosting over a nipple. She sighed a little, tried to move her legs, and was stopped by the bonds. He pinched her, this time, and she arched into his touch with another breathless sigh. He grinned at her, liking the frustration rising in her eyes, and let his fingers dance along the inside of her thigh.

          “No friction, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You don’t get satisfaction until I say so.” She whimpered at that, a needy little sound that stole the breath out of his body for a moment. He leaned down and took her previously neglected nipple between his teeth and tugged gently. Her cry was music, the jerk of her body so sweet under him. He let his nails reach the join of her leg and thigh, brought them lightly over her curls. He continued, moving over her body with delicate touches, little licks of his tongue and soft bites, only rarely running the lightest touch between her legs.

          “Rumple,” she moaned, tossing her head.

          “Yes?” he said, feeling high on the delicious combination of complete power and absolute love that was racing behind his eyes.

          “How long are you going to do this?” He would have worried, if she had sounded anything other than completely lustful, that she wasn’t enjoying herself.

          “How do you feel?” he asked, tracing his fingers down her ribs and hips, brushing at her entrance briefly. She was soaking the bedclothes, the liquid slicking her cunt flowing out.

          “Empty,” she said breathlessly, and moved her hips as best she could. “Give me  _something_ ,” she begged. He smiled, pinching her nipples again and then sliding over her, rubbing, as he moved to between her legs. He pushed his hips lightly against, enough so that his hard cock just brushed at her, blocked by the boxers he was still wearing. “That doesn’t count, Rumpelstiltskin!” she said.

          “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, hands roaming over her stomach and sides, lifting himself onto his knees—it was easier on the soft bed—so that no part of his lower body touched her. “I’ll make you come, but you have to describe it to me. Tell me what you’re feeling, Belle, what I do to you.”

          “Yes,” she agreed, biting her lip. He didn’t move and she gave another whine, stopping when he touched her hip.

          “Now is a good time to start.” Her eyes widened and he smiled smugly at the sight of her trying to find words. He pinched her nipple again, hard, and she gasped.

          “I feel empty. I need you to fill me up. Feel me, Rumple, I’m so wet, I need you there.” He rubbed his knuckles gently against her cunt, not where she needed them, and she moaned, jerking her hips again. Then he slid his littlest finger into her, briefly, quickly, and she gasped. “More,” she said. “I need more than that, Rumple, I’m so close,  _please_.” Belle’s voice had become a needy whine, and her eyes were closed tight in her flushed face.

          “Like this?” He moved his thumb slowly over her clit, felt the pearl of flesh harden and slip under his slick fingers. Belle moaned again, and he reached his unoccupied hand down to his cock, giving himself a few hard jerks, to ease what was now painful hardness.

          “Yes,” she said, and he pushed a little harder.

          “Talk to me, Belle,” he said, thrusting his middle finger inside her and relishing the way she clenched around it. “How do you feel?”

          “You’re not giving me enough,” she said, through her gasping breaths. “I need to come, Rumple. Let me come, please.”

          “No,” he said, but added another finger to her cunt, moving them in and out. She liked that, but didn’t like when he abandoned her clit to fuck her with his two fingers. “You can come when I say you can.” The sight of Belle stretched out like this was overwhelming, every inch of her longing to be touched, caressed into ecstasy. And he ignored it, in favor of pushing her how he wanted her, to the edge of pleasure but never over.

          He returned his thumb to her clit and rubbed in circles, and she tried to twist towards him, her legs striving to clench together.

          “Please, Rumple,” she said again, and he knew he would never tire of her saying his name that way. “ _Fuck_  me. Use your cock.”

          Finally. He nearly came, hearing his favorite filthy words spill from her mouth in her desperation, but instead he yanked his boxers down, removed his fingers, and slid inside her, his hands coming to rest just under her arms. They were eye to eye now, and the sounds she was making as he slid in and out of her were setting his blood on fire. She was  _screaming_  for him, moaning about how  _good_  she felt with his cock inside her, and he thrust faster, pressing gently at her clit again.

          “All right, Belle,” he whispered into her ear, feeling her legs starting to shake around him. “You can come now, sweetheart.”

          Her orgasm came with more screams into his ear and the fluttering of her muscles around him, and he followed only a moment later, groaning his release into her neck. He made her bonds vanish a moment later, and then she was wrapped around him, holding him tightly.

          “Rumple,” she whispered, and he rubbed her back, wondering if he’d pushed too far.

          “Are you okay, love?” he asked, and she nodded into his neck.

          “That was certainly different,” she reflected. He frowned, and she kissed between his eyebrows, smoothing the wrinkles away. “But very good.” He relaxed a little and let her smooth his ruffled hair. “Next time, we’ll tie you down.”

          “Belle,” he said simply, trying to imagine the perfect torture that would be. “Thanks for making me tell you.”


	7. Hold Still For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iambicdearie prompted: sequel to "Trust and Chains," role reversal.
> 
> Summary: It’s Belle’s turn to tie up her true love. Rated NC-17.

               Unlike him, Belle didn’t have the luxury of magic at her fingertips, but Rumpelstiltskin was not finding it a hardship. She was blushing and smirking at him as she tugged one of his ties around his right wrist and bound it to the headboard.

 

                “I think I’ll have to leave your legs free,” she said, and he grinned up at her, and ran his left hand down her side. In a few moments, he wouldn’t be able to touch.

                “That’s probably good, considering my trousers are still on,” he said, and she mock frowned at him, straddling his chest and propping her elbows on her knees.

                “I need you to hold  _still_  for me,” she purred, and wriggled off of him. “All right?”

                “Yes,” he agreed, and watched as she stood next to the bed and discarded her nightgown. Belle was the most beautiful woman in the world, pale like china and ruddy like roses, with her eyes like violets. And with one more of his ties wrapped loosely around her hand, she was even more striking than usual.

                She’d approached him, about a reprise of their experiment a few weeks before, where he’d tied her down and teased her into screaming, and he’d agreed so quickly it might have been a little embarrassing, had her eyes not brightened at the prospect. In truth, he was a little afraid, deep down, because he despised being bound—but for Belle, Belle who loved him and would never hurt him—for Belle, he could take pleasure in it.

                When she walked around the foot of the bed, completely bare, and took his wrist in her hand, he drew a shaking breath and tried to relax against the pillows. It was truly not uncomfortable, with his wrists bound over his head in soft cloth. The sight of naked Belle was enough to distract him, in any case, and she slid onto the bed, kneeling between his legs, reaching for his waistband.

                She didn’t even brush his cock when she slid the fine wool over her hips and down past his ankles, leaving him in boxers and socks. He shifted his hips, and she dug her nails into his thigh.

                “Don’t move, remember?” she chided. “Or I’m going to have to find some way to tie your legs.” Her eyes flicked to the floor and lit up, and she drew down his boxers as well, wetting her lips shamelessly at the sight of his bared cock, hard and throbbing for her. The feeling of her eyes on him only inflamed him further; her appreciation made him want to reach out and hold her.

                “Belle,” he groaned, but she only leapt easily from the bed again and came back with his belt. She held it up questioningly, looking at his ankle, and he nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, and she wrapped it around his left ankle and secured the length to the other end of the bed.

                “There,” she said, and trailed her hand up his leg with her nails: a light, prickling touch, and he tried his hardest not to twitch when she traced along his inner thigh, then veered to his hip. “Mine to have.” He was, always, hers to have, but usually she was his as well, and now he was at her mercy. And determined to enjoy it, even though his slow teasing of her meant she would be likely to repay in kind.

                Belle traced all over his body: his legs, arms, belly, and chest, but didn’t so much as breathe on his cock. He could see her hunger, when her body gave her away: her color was high, her nipples tight and tiny, and her eyes dark with lust. She climbed over him, straddling him above his waist, so he could feel her wetness on his ribs. She leaned forward, over his head, kissing his bound arms and nipping the skin lightly. Her breasts hung over his face this way, and he wanted to move his head to kiss them, but she kept one hand on his jaw, holding his head still.

                “Darling,” he pleaded. “Won’t you touch me?” There was teasing, and there was torture: the line, he felt, was blurring. Belle moved back down, lifting her hips and only brushing her curls past the head of his cock.

                “Soon,” she promised, then trailed a lazy finger up his length, taking up a drop of the wetness that gathered at his head. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists: he would  _not_  come at a single touch.

                “God, Belle!” he cried out, deprived of her touch once more. She licked off her finger, sucking at the tip, and smiled at him.

                “So desperate already?” she said, with a little giggle, and straddled his left leg, rubbing her wet cunt against his thigh and bending to flick his cock with the tip of her tongue. It was good she had tied firmly: the feeling of the silk bonds tugging against his flesh countered the deep ache in his balls. The feeling of Belle slipping against his leg was maddening, and she leaned to lick him again, just his head, and he jerked his hips up, unable to stop himself.

                “Please,” he begged. “More, Belle. Anything.” Her eyes were sparkling, enjoying their game, and she reached down and teased at her entrance, making sure he was watching. He couldn’t even  _speak_ , much less turn away, at the sight of Belle’s fingers brushing her slit, then moving up to press her clit. He groaned through gritted teeth: it was too much to hold. Her hands on herself, the ache in his throbbing cock, the silk around his wrists: he couldn’t decide if he wanted it to stop or never end.

                “ _Mmph-hm_ ,” Belle whimpered, and her eyes fluttered shut. “I could take you now, slide you deep in me, and touch myself while I rode you.” His only reply was a soft, breathless moan: speech was gone, that section of his mind fled somewhere, chased away by her words. “Or I could use my mouth on you, because I know you like that, Rumple. I know you like to watch my lips around your cock, love.”

                He wasn’t sure if he could last, and the seams of his ties would rip if he jerked against them any longer, but it didn’t matter, because Belle wrapped the hand slick with her juices around his cock and stroked him roughly. He spilled himself on his belly, with a low gasp, as Belle lunged forward to kiss him, one hand clutching his shoulder.

                “Oh, darling,” he breathed, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the perfect scent of her skin. She smiled against his cheek, and he felt her shift over him and come, suddenly, mewling softly. “Let me hold you?” he asked, and she reached up to loose his wrists. Cloth still around his wrists like some absurd cuffs, he wrapped his arms around her, and covered her legs as best as he could with his stiff right one.

                “Was that good?” she asked bashfully, and slipped out of his arms to free his other legs before nuzzling back into him. He stroked her hair and kissed her softly.

                “Of course, love. But… let’s not do these nights  _too_  often? I like to hold you.” Belle chuckled into his chest and nodded.

                “I like to hold you too.”


	8. Different Kinds of Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: "22: Then there’s tongue + Rumbelle ;)" from the kiss meme, and Iambicdearie asked for magic-enhanced smut (which this isn’t really but I’ll do the other prompts later sweetheart)
> 
> Uh yeah this turned into smut.
> 
> Summary: Belle returns from her errand, kisses Rumpelstiltskin, and gets something she didn’t expect. NC-17.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting: maybe for him to smile, or be confused, or push her away. But he stood up, instead, and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her upright. Ripples of brown skin bloomed and faded over his face, but she felt magic tighten around him, and he pushed her against the spinning wheel and kissed back.

 

She didn’t know how kissing was done: she had only pressed her lips to his, on the advice of a black-clad stranger, and now he was running his hands down her sides and moving his lips over hers.

Then he took her lower lip between his and touched his tongue to the inside. Belle’s insides turned to water and honey, and she clutched at his shoulders, making fists in his soft shirt. Uncertain, she parted her lips and he pushed his tongue inside, moving through her mouth and dragging along the roof. She couldn’t stifle a little, pleased sound at the feeling, and his hands seized around her waist like claws and the spinning wheel dug into her back.

"Belle," he panted, and she wondered why his face was still pebbled with gold, if he reacted to her like this. Was this not True Love? He pushed up against her, so the lines of their bodies touched, and she could feel—well, she was certain it was his erection, pressing against her, and despite her limited knowledge, his desire dried her mouth.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she replied, and he pressed his hand over her buttocks, smoothing her skirt and squeezing her muscles. “What—what’s happening?" She reached an uncertain hand up to touch his face. He closed a rough, black-nailed hand over hers and kissed her palm.

"Not a cure to love, just something harsher. Lust subsumes things, Belle." She blinked, not really understanding what he meant. His desire was counteracting the effects of her ‘cure,’ maybe, but if that was the case, she was blushing too hard to put the question to him. 

"Lust," she managed. He kissed her again, moving his mouth down her jaw, nipping and tugging at the skin.

"Lust," he agreed, voice deepening, and licked her throat, making her insides heat and twist. “Is mine unrequited?" He punctuated his question with a rough kiss to the hollow where her throat met her breastbone, and her breath hitched.

"No," she said haltingly, and put one of her hands behind his neck, catching some of his hair. He groaned into her throat and one hand slipped up between them, teasing at the lacings of her bodice.

Oh. This was going faster than she expected—she hadn’t expected this at all—and she had nothing to guide her but Rumpelstiltskin’s heavy breathing and wandering hands. Still, if it was True Love, and it must be, because she had  _seen_  his curse waver at her touch, then it couldn’t be wrong, could it?

True Love was forever, and trumped everything. Even a lady-turned-housemaid and a spinner-turned-sorcerer. She tried to kiss him back, the way he was kissing her, and he moved his lips to welcome her tongue.

“Can I?” he asked, and his hand trembled at the tie at the top of her dress. She swallowed and nodded.

“You’ll have to show me what to do,” she confessed, and he loosened the little bow and moved his hand to pull up her skirts. “I don’t know.” He kissed and nipped at the neckline of her dress, dragging the loosened cloth back with his teeth.

“Anything you want to know,” he promised. “Stop me if I hurt you.” The hand under her skirt wrapped around the back of her thigh, and Belle gasped at the sudden intimacy of it.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked. She was nervous, but she loved him. He might not even understand that yet, but if she could help him, give him her body to enjoy, it might make him see. He paused and stepped back, then took his hands off her, letting her skirts fall back down and leaving her standing with disheveled clothes.

“Lie down, Belle,” he said, and he sounded gentle, though she could hear the contained bite of desire under his calm. There was a cushion, so big it was nearly a mattress, on the floor near them that hadn’t been there before. She obliged him, licking her lips nervously at the sight of him standing over her. Then he was on his knees, next to her, kissing her once more. “Let me show you,” he said, and there was a question in his voice.

“Have me,” she replied, as confidently as she could. She knew this: he would bare them both and push inside her, satisfy himself. Maybe calm himself enough to listen to her about love.

But he pulled up her skirts and made no move to undress himself, just tugged down her drawers. Belle couldn’t stop herself from blushing furiously, and curled her fingers into the soft plush of the cushion to stop from covering herself.

“Beautiful,” he said roughly, and pressed his cheek against hers for a brief moment. Then he drew away, shifted down to her feet, and she stifled a yelp when he pushed his face against her inner thigh, kissing her there. Then his kisses moved to her hip and the hair-covered place between her thighs, all soft presses of his lips.

She quavered when he dipped his tongue into the folds where she had expected his manhood to press. The feeling,  _there,_ hot and wet, sent hot little curls of pleasure through her body. She dug her fingers into the cushion and reminded herself that this was to calm him down. And it was not unpleasant, she realized, as he moaned into her and slid his tongue all over. When he reached some sensitive spot that drove away thought, she let out a mewling sound, then clamped her lips shut.

“You can make noise,” he panted, and flicked at the spot again with his tongue. Belle whimpered, drawing one leg up restlessly. “I want you to feel good.”

“This feels good,” she said raggedly, and he moved his lips over that spot and she twitched her hips, crying out again. “ _Oh_.”

All thought left her at more of his ministrations, when he gripped her thighs to hold her restless body still, and she forgot about making him calm down, about everything except how good and hot and  _good_  his tongue made her feel. Heat coursed through her body, building up like waves getting higher and higher, and she half-sobbed, half-moaned, words lost.

Still he did not pull his mouth away, and she thought she must break, must catch fire, if he did not stop.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she moaned, managing to form his name, and tugged his hair. He lifted his head, and she saw his chin was slick with liquid that must have come from her. The unbearable feeling was not so strong, now, but she felt needy, missing something she couldn’t articulate.

“Trust me,” he said, and she bit her lip and nodded, and he lowered his head once more. His tongue was sliding over that place, again and again, mercilessly, making her feel shimmery and tight. Then there were waves washing through her again, and suddenly, they broke, and something let go inside. Her legs trembled as her toes curled, and she cried out, again and again, as heat flooded her body, and squeezed her eyes shut as stars sparked behind them. He kept licking her through it, until it felt painful, and she tugged him away.

“That—that was,” she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t find any words. He rested his head on her stomach and took her hand, to kiss it again.

“Care for more?” he asked, and her jaw dropped. She didn’t feel she could, and said as much. “Magic can do many things,” he said, a playful note in his voice. She blinked confusedly. She had been planning to offer herself to him, and he had taken her in a way she had not expected at all. He’d satisfied her instead of himself.

She wondered if that meant he understood True Love, or simply expressed it. Either way, she could  _feel_  it, in his offer, in his care for her. She couldn’t summon embarrassment at her bare lower half and spread legs now, so she smiled, the way she always did.

“If you like,” she said, a little shy, and he slid up next to her and kissed her, moving his hand between her legs this time, magic seeming to dance around it pleasantly, and maybe breaking his curse could wait for explanations, and a little more of  _this._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from beeeinyourbonnet: masturbation

Belle eyed the door a little nervously. The lock seemed to work, but who knew if it would really keep out Rumpelstiltskin if he took it into his head that he needed her to do something? To be fair, he had never ever come into her room before, but given what she was dying to do, she thought her nerves were understandable.

It had been three weeks since she’d arrived here, and before then, the stress of the war had made her too exhausted to do anything other than sleep in bed. 

Now, her people were safe, and she was aching for release. Belle loosened her hair, kicked off her shoes, undressed, and pulled on her nightgown. The little room, with its small-paned, thick-glassed window and curtained bed, was far from Rumpelstiltskin’s tower, and, she hoped, far from where he slept. If he ever slept.

She slid under the covers, half-drew the curtains, and closed her eyes, trying to relax. Everything was quiet. She reached under her nightgown and rubbed her palm over herself, waiting for the wetness that was sure to come quickly tonight.

She smiled slightly to herself, drawing up before herself an imaginary lover. He was usually faceless, with a tall, trim frame, muscular arms, and sun-tanned skin. Whenever she imagined conversation, he had a deep voice.

Tonight, though, her fallback was doing nothing for her, and she fidgeted, annoyed. Perhaps…she imagined unseen hands holding her shoulders from behind, slightly chapped lips kissing her neck, roughly curled hair brushing her cheeks. She swept her fingers over her folds and down to her entrance and wished they were clever, strong fingers, with teasing nails, and skin hued a greyish gold, and—oh, gods.

She had started thinking about Rumpelstiltskin without even realizing it, and the thought had her freezing in shame and filling with lust at the same time. The sight of him walking slowly somewhere, with purpose, had always arrested her, but she imagined him prowling towards her and had to bite down on a groan.

He would never know.

She rubbed herself furiously, biting into her pillow and gasping, her wild curiosity sending her reeling to completion in short minutes.

The fading tremors of orgasm left her blinking at the dark ceiling, and she shuddered, stretching out and biting her lip in a smile. She could deal with the odd, fidgety sorcerer in the flesh, and make love to him here, alone, as often as she wanted, and that would stay safely in the dark.

She brushed over her neck where she imagined he would kiss her, and dropped to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from iambicdearie: ice cubes

"Belle," he whispers, and hears the clink of her bowl of ice again. They’re sitting in the sunlight, on a blanket behind his house. Between the heat of the sun and the heat of Belle against his back, he welcomes the feeling of the wet ice as she traces over his back, making patterns and words. Her hand moves around to his belly, and he can see her red-tipped fingers move the ice cube up to his sternum, then down again, as she kisses his shoulder from behind.

"Yes, love?" she murmurs, and the ice is mostly cold water now, sliding down his stomach. Belle lowers her cold hand to wrap around his rigid cock, stroking slowly. He hisses a little, and her other, warm hand wraps around to grab his chest.

He reaches up and lays his hand over hers.

"Aren’t you going to let me please you?" She hums, sounding drowsy.

“‘Course,” she agrees, moving her hand leisurely. She wraps around him from behind, and he feels her wetness against his lower back, hotter than the sunlight.

She coaxes him until they’re lying down, still jerking him off slowly, and runs another piece of ice down his thigh while she sucks and bites his back. He moves his leg back till it’s between her thighs and she’s grinding slowly against him, soaking him.

He’s drowsy, but also so aroused he barely feels Belle’s ice, just her slow, torturing hand. He closes his eyes against the sunlight, feeling as if he is in dreams, or some fantasy from their dark castle days. His muscles relax in the warmth, when Belle finally runs out of ice, and though she’s unwilling to move her hand faster, she coats her hand in her slickness and strokes his cock once more, still kissing his neck and back.

He comes, almost surprised at how close he was, when he feels her move her free hand down to rub at herself. Belle moans with him, and smears his mess on his thigh and hers. He turns over, slowly, just in time to see her roll away from him, using the hand sticky with his seed to rub herself.

She comes almost lazily, legs falling wide and smiling softly at him as she lets out the most perfect sound.

He turns them over, tucking himself up behind her this time, and glances up. The sun will move, and they’ll have shade in minutes. It’s safe to sleep. Belle, in front of him, draws his hands forward so she can clasp them in hers. He smiles into her neck and closes his eyes again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from samoyedjack: sex on the table in the Dark Castle

Rumpelstiltskin’s hand made its way slowly up her thigh, underneath her skirt, and he never looked away from her eyes, waiting on her signal  to stop. But Belle was tracing her fingers up his thighs, to his waist, hungry for skin to touch herself.

He kissed her again, hand sliding under her drawers, and she gasped, twitching where she sat. Rumpelstiltskin drew his hand back slightly.

"Don’t stop," she said, finding the ties of his leather trousers. His warm fingers returned to her dampening folds, tracing through the hair there, dipping into the wetness from her very center. She shivered, biting her lip, and untied his trousers, tugging until she could untuck his shirt and reach for his manhood. It was half stiff and hot already, and she ran her hand down it, brushing her palm lightly over the head. 

Her books did not fail her, because he groaned and panted, then moved his own hand over her. Belle wrapped her arm around his waist, drawing him close, and continued to tug at his erection, pleased.

She had not really expected her clumsy seduction to bear fruit on the enigmatic sorcerer, but it had, and now Rumpelstiltskin was moaning as she stroked at him. His face, as she had hoped, was glorious in his pleasure.

Hot liquid coated her hand a moment later, spattering onto the bodice and skirt of her dress as well. Rumpelstiltskin shivered all over as she took her hand away from him, and his hand left her privates.

She was about to feel upset when he yanked her drawers down to her knees and slid her farther onto the table. His easy strength made her tremble, and his hands came to rest on her hips, fingers slowly drawing up her skirt.

"That was wicked of you," he said, voice low and dark. Belle smirked at him.

"What was?" she asked, as her skirt was drawn up over her knees.

“‘I’ve never been courted like in a story, Rumpelstiltskin,’” he quoted. Belle giggled. “‘I’ve never been fucked on a table, Rumpelstiltskin.’”

"I thought you were going to fall over," she said.

"I still might." He finished gathering her skirt at her waist and bent his face down over her.

"Oh," she gulped. Then his lips touched her privates, and she lost the ability to speak. His tongue went  _everywhere_ , running over every inch of her, pushing into her entrance, dragging over the little bud at the top, and his lips followed, pulling and pressing and kissing until Belle had to scream. She slid down until she was lying on the table, one hand grabbing the fabric of her rumpled skirt, the nails of the other digging into the tabletop.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t stop, even when she was twitching and moving her legs so much she nearly kicked him, and she felt as if she was turning to honey, hot and liquid and golden, as he licked and licked and licked until she melted completely, with a final strangled cry.

She sucked in a few heaving breaths as she finished, and Rumpelstiltskin lifted his head up, mouth glistening, and gave her a smirk.

"All right," she panted. "We both win, right?"

"If you got what you wanted," he demurred.

"Still technically haven’t been fucked on a table," she pointed out, and he yanked her upright, dark cloudy eyes intent.

"Give me ten minutes," he growled, and she grinned, and kissed him once more.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iambicdearie prompted: belle reminds him that he's in control of himself now (yay bodily autonomy)  
> I’ve been wanting to work on this one for a while now and it’s an hour till class starts….  
> Warning for PTSD, mentions of assault.  
> Rated M

Belle stroked up and down her husband’s arm, trying to ease his trembling. 

"It’s okay, Rumple," she said, keeping the quaver out of her own voice. It wasn’t okay, not on their wedding night, when they should be hurrying to the bed they hadn’t seen since the night he returned from Neverland. Not when this one night should be happiness.

They had kissed in the doorway, and as Rumpelstiltskin had nipped down her neck, he’d started shaking and jerked away. 

"Do you want to sit on the couch?" she asked, taking his hands and kissing his fingers. "We can talk if you want." He took in a deep breath.

"I’ll be fine, sweetheart. There’s no need, Belle." She gave him a look, and he just stared back, brown eyes wide and not as calm as she needed.

"You’re shaking, Rumple," she said gently. "I don’t want you to be afraid." He nodded, and pulled a hand free to run it through her loosened hair.

"I know," he said, looking down. "I just—I closed my eyes." Belle wrapped her arms around him and hugged him, fighting down rage and pain.

"She’s gone," she said. "I’m here." He bent his head down to rest his face on her hair. "Do you want to tell me?" She would have liked to look at him, but he had wrapped his arms around her, and her face was buried in his shoulder. A shiver went through him at her words.

"I’m sorry, Belle." He spoke half into her hair, choking on the words. "I-I—" he faltered, and she could feel the sob building inside his chest. "I kissed her, and held her," his voice finally broke, and Belle felt cold and scared all over as she rubbed his back, "I didn’t want to, it was only to distract her—"

Oh, God.

"It’s okay, it’s not your fault," she said, fury at the witch boiling inside her gut. "Sweetheart, that’s never your fault."

"Belle, I’m sorry," he rasped. "I would never—"

"I know," she soothed.

"Nothing ever—she—" he was crying now, and she reached up and stroked the back of his neck. "She would touch my face, and she always,  _always_  held the dagger.”

"Not your fault," she said again, and lifted her head to look at him. He was squeezing his eyes shut and and didn’t notice. Another pang shot through her chest, until she was sure she was burn up from pain and anger.

"I couldn’t do anything," he whispered, controlling his shaking voice. "I just had to sit there and let her."

Belle took his hands again, clutching them in hers.

"You’re safe here," she said, unable to find better comfort to offer. "Let’s just go upstairs and get some rest." He frowned and looked wildly at the ceiling.

"Belle, I’m sorry," he whispered. "You should have better, on your wedding night."

"Hush," she said. "I have you, what more could there be?"

They slipped under the covers and she wrapped herself around him from behind, anxious to hold him.

The morning dawned cool and bright, and Rumple smiled at her as she blinked awake, tracing a finger down her cheek.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, and he nodded, eyes soft. 

"Thank you," he said, and leaned forward to kiss her. She kissed back, savoring the closeness, and he coaxed her onto her back, putting his hands onto her hips. She reached up to brush the side of his face with her fingers.

"You’re sure?" she asked, and he nodded, pressing close to her so she could feel his morning hardness. She wriggled out of her underwear, not bothering to take off the t-shirt she had put on last night, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

It was a little different from before, but still wonderful. Rumple didn’t want to break eye contact, which stole her breath away. The love in his beautiful dark eyes made her tremble all over. And perhaps they were a little slower and gentler than usual, but she liked kissing and fucking and looking at her love’s eyes all at once.

She finished faster than she ever had, with only his cock inside her, and melted as he came right after, staring down at her with absolute love in his eyes all the while.

"I love you," she said, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth, and he hugged her close.

"I love you, Belle," he replied, and she smiled when he kissed her throat and didn’t pause at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iambicdearie prompted: magic enhanced bondage

"This feels strange," Belle said, testing the invisible bonds around her. She couldn’t move from elbows to wrist.

"Don’t strain your arms, sweetheart," Rumpelstiltskin cautioned, running his hands down her bare arms, tracing lightly over her collarbones and teasing her breasts. The barest ghost of a touch over her nipple made her sigh and squirm. Rumpelstiltskin smiled, and his hands continued to her hips, nudging her legs to fall open wide. Technically, they already were, with her lover kneeling between them, but more whispers of magic gripped her ankles.

"Oh," she said, and Rumpelstiltskin bent his head, licking at her neck and then swooping lower to pluck at her nipple with his lips and teeth. Belle groaned, but couldn’t pull in on herself, shiver and grab him until the aching inside turned manageable. "Oh, I am getting you back for this one, Rumple."

"I’m sure I’ll love it," he murmured, hardly pausing from kissing her ribs and stomach. His hands trailed everywhere, from her breasts to her arms to her thighs. Belle keened as he scraped his teeth slowly, lightly, over her belly down to her navel, then shifted to do the same to the inside of her thigh, adding his tongue as well.

"Oh," she groaned, and the end of it turned into a yelp as he buried his face between her legs, thrusting his tongue into her dripping entrance, then dragging it out and over her, rubbing soft over her clit. "Ah," she whimpered. "Oh, Rumple." It was hard to move, and all she could see was his dark head bent over her.

"Don’t struggle," he whispered, or he might have, because he didn’t lift his face at all, just whispered into her folds. Belle felt herself start trembling all over.

"Tease," she managed to grate out, then whimpered again as he plied his lips and tongue over her sensitive clit, then moved lower. He was smiling, she could  _feel_  it, and that made her shake even harder.

"Soon," he said, and she couldn’t help but tug against the immovable air, frustrated. Then he moved his head again, and caught her clit ever so gently with his teeth and lower lip. 

Belle screamed, body jerking as she came like a branch breaking, like a fuse running down. Her bonds disappeared and she wrapped her legs around his shoulders reflexively, arms curling around herself.

He moved back up to her a moment later, while she was still catching her breath, and hugged her.

"You sneaky bastard," she said fondly. "Magic is cheating." He nuzzled into her neck and chest, kissing lightly.

"Next time I’ll steal your ribbons then," he said, and she frowned.

"I keep those for you," she said, mock-upset.

"Well, you can get them out," he said suggestively. She giggled, nudging him.

"You never get tired? Is that magic too?"

"Not a bit," he said smugly. "But, well, another few minutes might be in order for me. I can make you come again?" He sounded hopeful, and Belle shivered.

"I’d die," she said. "Let’s rest for a minute." He seemed happy with that, resting his head on her arm. Belle stroked his hair softly, laughed to herself when he drifted to sleep in a few minutes, and tugged the bedcovers up.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ripperblackstaff prompted: "how about rumbelle smut with cane smut, dagger handle smut, honey and yogurt, sperm licking, and tequila shot off each other's body ?"
> 
> warning for some elements of psychological dissociation

They had both decided the only way to properly combat the odd waves of magic that kept rippling through town was with alcohol, after books, cuddling, and movies had all failed to distract. Belle’s head wasn’t hurting anymore, though she wasn’t sure which parts of her brain belonged to her and which to Lacey. Rumpelstiltskin was in a similar state, stretched out on the couch and blinking lazily at her.

 

"How’s it going, Mr. Gold?" she inquired, fumbling at the bottle of tequila and abandoning the glasses on the coffee table. He waved his head from side to side, contemplating.

"Well enough," he finally decided, and Belle left her chair and hurried over to the couch, kneeling next to him.

"Take your shirt off," she said, and he didn’t even hesitate before starting on his buttons and cuffs. He looked especially handsome like this, his hair in disarray, shoes and jacket abandoned for comfort. Lacey smirked as he tossed his shirt onto the back of the sofa, and poured a narrow line of tequila from his navel to his sternum, chasing it quickly with her tongue. It was better licked off his skin than in a glass, she felt. Mr. Gold growled, sat up, and dragged her onto the couch next to him, urging her to disrobe with clumsy hands.

In a moment, she was spread out in her bra and panties, and Rumpelstiltskin was almost biting her stomach in his eagerness to lap up the liquor.

"Sweet," he mumbled into her chest, then ducked his head to press his face between her legs, licking her through her panties. Belle made a noise like a startled bird, feeling like melting sugar, and felt her legs lock around his neck as his fingers traveled downwards as well.

His Belle was as warm and sweet as honey, as his tongue traced patterns like flowers and fireworks over her pussy, moving softly and insistently against her clit. She was mewling and writhing above him, making it hard for his fingers to hold the cloth and lace of her panties aside, and he ripped them, without a second thought, redoubling the efforts of his mouth.

"Oh, Mr. Gold," she panted. Lacey, then: no matter. He was halfway between that self and Rumpelstiltskin anyway, and his love tasted good no matter what. Her sweetness was coating his chin by the time he pushed his tongue inside her entrance and withdrew it slowly, turning the motion into a long lick and then sucking kiss over her clit. Another little nip there, and she came, hips twitching up as her hands flew down to twist in his hair.

"Mmmm," he pronounced, kissing her stomach and ribs. Whether it was the magic, the alcohol, or some combination of those with his desire for Belle, he could think of nothing better to do than to make her come for the rest of the afternoon.

"Hungry?" she teased. "There’s yogurt and crackers in the kitchen—oh!" He bit her nipple, gently, in punishment for teasing, and pushed her bra up so she was exposed to his mouth. Her soft breasts with their pert nipples always enticed him, and he had his fill of them now, licking up the last traces of tequila, rubbing his cheek against her hardened nipples.

Belle didn’t let him continue for too long, though, reaching her hands down to pull off his belt, then undo his pants. He managed to get her bra all the way undone, and she shook it off as she sat up, tugging his pants and boxers to his ankles.

"Stay here," she said firmly, and then scampered off into the kitchen, giving him a fleeting vision of her lovely back and ass, and long hair, before she was gone.

Belle snatched a few things out of the refrigerator, laughing to herself, and hurried back to Rumpelstiltskin’s side before he could move. Neither of them were in a behaving mood this afternoon. There was a metal bowl half filled with whipped cream from last night, and she pulled off the plastic wrap and dipped her hand in as she knelt down in front of him again. He was hard, almost twitching, and let out a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a groan when she wrapped her hand around his cock.

As lubricants went, it wasn’t the best, but she enjoyed dipping her head down every few moments as she pumped at him, licking cream off the head of his cock or covering his balls with kisses as she collected what had spilled down there.

"I made us whipped cream in the Dark Castle once," she mused, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction, and took her hand away, licking the rest of the cream off his cock. "I think I would’ve been pleased if we’d done this. I never really cared to know what a man’s cock looked like until then, but I did so want to look at yours." She smiled as he gripped himself, groaning like he was dying, and jerked hard a few times, coming on his stomach. Belle cleaned her hand off, then leaned forward to kiss his softening cock—she did so like the thing—and then suck on the skin of his belly.

His seed was salty and sweet, hot under her tongue, and she moaned as she lapped it up, drinking him down. The first time she’d used her mouth on him, she’d loved the taste of him, to his surprise. It felt deliciously warm sliding down her throat, and she rubbed her legs together, feeling herself turn wet.

Gold would never understand how he managed to keep a woman like Lacey around, but he wasn’t complaining, as she licked his soiled stomach and ribs clean, moaning all the while. 

This was where he had some measure of confidence with her, at least. He fumbled for his cane, tugging her into his lap and pushing them both down onto the couch, her legs between his. It was easy, from there, to rub the handle of his cane along her pussy, then slip it inside.

"Oh," she moaned softly, moving her hips. Rumpelstiltskin tightened his free arm around her waist, reaching up to squeeze her breasts as he withdrew it, then rubbed it over her clit. "Please," she begged, sounding desperate, and he teased her entrance with it, making her cry out and whine. Then he pushed back inside her, leaving it still, and her hips rolled against it.

"Not enough?" he asked, and she shook her head, still whimpering and thrusting her hips forward. He withdrew the handle once more, and closed his eyes.

It had no power anymore, except as a rather fanciful knife, and he traced a spell around the blade so that as he slid his summoned dagger between Belle’s legs, the trailing blade scraped and surprised, but never cut.

"This is a little thicker," he whispered, and she cried out as the hilt stretched her opening. He kept one finger pressed lightly on her clit and slide the knife’s handle in and out of her, as she shook and moaned, and eventually her voice trailed into a high-pitched whimper as her body curled inward.

He took the dagger out of her carefully, then brought the hilt to his lips, licking her sweetness off. A line of her juices slid down over where his name was still inscribed, and he brought it to her lips, shivering as she licked it off slowly.

He had less grasp on his magic as Mr. Gold, but that didn’t preclude plenty of other ways to amuse her for the rest of the afternoon, and he reversed their positions somewhat, so that she was draped over him. Perfect.

They had as long as they wanted.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iambicdearie prompted: ropes instead of silk ties

Their bed was never boring, even if they did fall into routines sometimes. At least once a week, Belle wrapped Rumple’s eyes in a blindfold, and she spent as many nights tied to the posts of their bed. It was lovely: sometimes Rumple would tell her a story of Charming’s askance looks when he had bitemarks lining his throat, and her new friend Ariel, who was slowly getting to know her prince, gave her wide-eyed looks at the reddish marks her wrists often bore. Belle found it more amusing than anything, and she knew Rumple positively delighted in unnerving people.

Suggesting new things was a cautious enterprise, usually, so one night Belle sat cross-legged, waiting for Rumple to come upstairs. Her new purchase was in her lap, and she sat in her nightgown, hem pulled up to her thighs. Maybe she was going to entice him a little bit, to convince him.

"Evening," he said, smiling at her waiting for him. "How shall it be tonight, my Belle?" She leaned back onto the pillows and showed him her coil of rope. She had bought it especially from Storybrooke’s only sex shop, the middle-aged proprietress winking at her all the while—there had been a few purchases, though those were to be introduced on other nights. Rumple only raised his eyebrows at it.

"You usually tie me with soft things," she said, winding the rope around her arms. "And this isn’t uncomfortable, don’t think that." She smiled up at him, hoping he would understand what she wanted. "I just would like something a little rougher, when you tie me." 

His brows came together at once.

"Are you not happy with what we do now?" She motioned him towards the bed, reaching her hands up to take off his tie as he sat.

"Yes, Rumple, I’m unhappy when I’m screaming ‘please, more,’" she returned, and he laughed softly. "New things are fun, though." She slid so that she was lying down, her legs spread indecently and temptingly wide. "I’d like to feel what being tied and  _fucked_ is like.” He gulped, and she saw his fingers move, curl inwards.

"Oh, would you?" She spread her arms out, grinning as he leaned over her.

"Take me," she requested, and his hand slid under her shoulder and turned her onto her belly so fast she yelped. Then Rumple was tugging her onto her knees and lashing the rope around her knees and thighs and ankles, hands fast and practiced. She tried to shift, and bit her lip. Somehow, he’d managed to pull her legs apart. He’d done that before, plenty of times, but it was different, on her hands and knees, rump in the air.

"Put your hands together, sweetheart," he growled, and she obeyed, though it made her a little unsteady. There was another rope in his hand, conjured no doubt, and he lashed her arms together from wrists to elbows. Belle could tell she was nearly dripping with readiness as his left hand slid up the inside of her thigh.

"Rum," she moaned. His hand tightened.

"Is this good?" His voice was slightly anxious, a touch worried.

"Yes," she panted. His hand slid further up, till the backs of his fingers were tickling at her wet curls.

"You said you wanted to be fucked, right sweetheart?" His other hand played with her nightgown, drawing it up to her waist and uncovering her from there down.

"Please," she whispered, feeling the tightness of his knots press against her skin. His fingers traced up her spine, and his other hand played with the folds of her privates, spreading her wetness all over while she quaked.

"Since you asked so nicely," he said, and she laughed helplessly as he shifted onto his knees and undid his trousers. His fingers came to rest on the ropes, tugging them so that her legs moved further apart, and she moaned as his cock moved against her entrance.

"Yes," she gasped, when he pushed his hips forward quickly and filled her up, relishing the sound of wet flesh meeting.

He was as rough as she could have asked for, hands heavy and tight on her hips and thighs, and she swayed, supporting herself on her bound hands, as she was fucked as thoroughly as she’d ever dreamed.

"Belle, come for me, darling," Rumple panted, slamming into her again. He moved one hand from her hip to tease at her swollen clit, and she screamed, unable to help herself.

"Ah, yes," she cried, pushing her hips back as best as she could. Another thrust from him, and a gentle pinch of her clit, had her screaming his name and shaking from head to foot as she came. Her muscles clenching around his cock had never felt better, and she twitched deliciously, pulses of electricity prickling all through her.

She was hardly thinking straight enough to notice when he finished, two beats behind her, and then the ropes were gone, and they were both collapsing onto the bed, sweaty, exhausted, and sated. Belle managed to reach a hand around to stroke his hair in thanks, and smiled to herself at what they would do with her other purchases.


End file.
